


Protect your heart, when you’re in love

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, Oliver is married, They love each other, don’t worry this will have a happy ending, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Elio is in a relationship with Oliver.But Oliver is married.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 86
Kudos: 351





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I have other stories I need to update and I shouldn’t be starting new ones! But this came to me today and I just had to write it. I’m pretty certain it’ll only be 2 chapters anyway. I hope you enjoy it, and please do leave me a comment! 
> 
> Xx

“Oliver.”

He stirs slightly, holds his hands on Oliver’s back, fingers digging into the skin on his shoulder blades. His legs wrap around Oliver’s hips more tightly, though the pain is right there, in his belly, in his abdomen covered completely by Oliver’s larger body.

“‘T’s okay,” Oliver murmurs against his cheek. He moves slowly, still pushing in - Elio didn’t think he could go any deeper, but apparently he can. He’s big, in proportion to the rest of him, and it scares Elio every time just as much as it arouses him. 

He takes a big breath. Oliver kisses his throat, the side of his neck. He’s obsessed with Elio’s neck, and Elio forces himself to focus on that, ignore the rest of his body and how it’s protesting. Oliver is going as slowly as he can. There’s not much he can do, unless they stop altogether.

“All inside,” Oliver breathes against his skin a few moments later. 

Elio has forgotten how tightly he’s holding onto Oliver’s back. He’s sure his fingers, knuckles white, are hurting him; but he can’t help it. It’s like he can’t control his body. It’s all sensation, all given over to Oliver, nothing belonging to him anymore. 

He forces himself to take a deep breath. 

“Kiss me?” he asks Oliver. Needing that connection, the reassurance.

Of course Oliver does. Holding Elio’s head in his hands, elbows down on the mattress, not moving an inch, at least for now, and Elio is grateful. 

Until Oliver does begin to move; and then Elio is grateful for that, too.

It’s overwhelming and painful but also, so good. It feels amazing. Oliver is the right size, has the right strength, the right rhythm for Elio’s body; it’s like he was moulded for him. And Elio likes to think that he was made for Oliver, too. To take him in, to envelope him, keep him safe andtight inside. Give him warmth and friction, and pleasure. 

They never use protection, never have. Elio moans in Oliver’s mouth at the thought. He always wants Oliver to come inside him, he would never want it any other way.

Towards the end Oliver has pulled himself up, is holding Elio’s hips firmly with his hands, is thrusting into him, hard, deep, fast. Elio wants to stare at Oliver, at how magnificent he looks, but his body is not his anymore, and rebels and arches back and his eyes close on their own accord. 

His orgasm starts deep in his belly and then quickly, like a hurricane, like an avalanche, it takes all of his body - makes him tremble, makes him surrender, makes him give up and give in and cry out as if he’s wounded, as if he’s in pain, but actually his body is just full of pleasure, terrible, ecstatic, stolen, total pleasure. 

Oliver responds by grunting a few times. A string of ‘yes, like that, just like that’, that Elio doesn’t know if he even knows he’s saying, if he’s even directing at Elio or just moaning to himself - but he’ll forgive him for that. For not thinking about him for a moment but just about his pleasure, about his own orgasm. It feels so good that Elio really can’t worry about that. 

“So, he’s still with his wife?”

Marzia is looking at him. Direct and clear. Her eyes are brown, her skin lightly tanned. It’s June, after all.

“Marzia,” Elio looks away. Why now?

“I’m just saying that you can’t go on like this. It’s crazy, really. He comes to Italy all the way from New York, tells her it’s a work trip, spends two days with you, then you don’t see him again for months. I mean.”

“It’s not two days.” Elio cringes at his own response.

Marzia sighs. “Oh, yes. It’s what, three days this time? Four?” She lays back on the sun lounger. She has sunglasses on, and Elio can’t see her eyes. “I’m surprised his wife hasn’t suspected yet.”

That makes Elio’s breath catch in his throat. He doesn’t even know why his heart suddenly beats faster, as if Marzia had told him he could be found out by the police, arrested, thrown in jail.

“She doesn’t - she doesn’t suspect,” he says quickly. His brain has stopped working long ago.

Another sigh. “Oh, okay. And that’s good, right? Good for Oliver, for sure. He has his wife and his lover. Lucky lucky guy.”

Elio swallows. The sun has become annoying on his skin. Too hot, it makes him sweaty. He sits up on his chair, scratches a hand through his curls.

“Please don’t talk about him like that.”

And Marzia sits up, too. Takes off her sunglasses; her eyes stay open a sliver against the luminous midday sun. It’s like she’s back to herself, less angry, less matter of fact.

“I’m sorry, Elio. I just - I don’t like Oliver that much right now. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Elio holds her eyes, and steels his expression. He’s not getting hurt. She’s wrong. Oliver loves him, he tells him every night, every time they make love. 

And it is making love, not just sex. 

He loves Oliver.

Even so, he just can’t seem to be able to say anything back to her.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Oliver murmurs against the side of Elio’s face, as he pushes him against a wall in a side street in Crema. 

It’s late at night, there’s no one around. The sky is clear, full of stars.

“I would have you right here if I could.”

Elio opens his eyes, looks up at Oliver. He holds his hands back, against the brick wall. He was just letting Oliver kiss him, just listening to him.

“Would you come to see me,” Elio finally says. Stops for a moment, when Oliver gently bites at his pulse point, to feel his teeth, sharp and careful. “Would you still come to see me, even if we weren’t having sex?”

It makes Oliver stop, just as Elio had thought, and pull back a little to look at him.

“You want to have sex, right?”

It’s not what Elio was asking.

“Yes, of course, but...”

“Then there’s no issue.” Oliver cups his face with both hands, smiles at him. He’s had a few drinks, with dinner that night, and his breath smells sweet. “You know I love you, Elio. Baby. You’re all I think about.”

He hugs Elio, holds him flush against him. And Elio holds him back. Quiet for the moment.

Then, when they’re back at the house, Oliver is still kissing him. 

“These lips,” he says, his voice dark, dribbling with desire. His finger tracing Elio’s face. “This mouth. Drives me insane.”

Elio smiles at him - he loves Oliver praising him. He also knows what that means, when Oliver is looking at his mouth with such focus, with such desire, with burning eyes.

Elio drops to his knees, unbuttons Oliver’s shorts. Pulls him out of them, and takes him into his mouth. 

Oliver’s reaction is instant.

“Fuck, yes,” he says, his hands going to hold Elio’s head, fingers deep in his curls. Elio holds his length with a hand for a while, while he moves forward and back on it, and then lets go, holds onto Oliver’s hips instead. He knows Oliver likes it that way, he likes to guide him, hold onto his hair. Fuck his mouth, like he does with his body. 

Elio lets him. Lets him set the pace. Keeps his mouth open and uses his tongue as best as he can, best as he knows how. Relaxes his throat, breathes through the gagging sensation when Oliver thrusts deeper. He’s not scared, because even when he gags, feels breathless, Oliver is there, reassuring. “I’ve got you,” he repeats over and over.

The taste of Oliver in his mouth, in his throat when he swallows, is the sweetest Elio has ever tasted. 

As always, the few days Oliver can spend back in Crema go by so fast. 

Elio loves when Oliver comes back, but then hates it when it’s time for him to leave again, hates that he was so stupidly happy to see him get off that train, because look now? He’s crying again, breathless and miserable.

“Hey, no tears,” Oliver murmurs softly, and pulls him into his arms. Elio goes willingly, wrapping himself around Oliver’s neck.

“Remember what you said,” Oliver says, on Elio’s shoulder. His voice is low. How does he keep his composure, so easily?

“You said you could do this. You said you’ll remember it’s only for a little while, and then I’ll be back and we’ll meet again.”

Elio nods. Yes, he said that. 

He was a fool.

But he can’t say that to Oliver. He has to be strong, or at the very least pretend. It’s the only way they can keep this going, it’s the only way he can keep Oliver in his life, with him. It’s the only way he can tell himself Oliver is his, only his.

But the thought of Oliver not only leaving him, but also going back to someone else, gets harder and harder every time, and now Elio can’t suppress a sob. Loud, and embarrassing. 

“I’m okay,” he rushes to reassure, pulling back a little to brush tears away with his sleeve. 

Oliver looks at him for the longest of moments; there’s a strange look in his eyes this time. It’s the first time Elio is openly crying while they say goodbye, he usually holds on, stoically, until he’s back home and in the solitude of his room, until he can cry and despair without anyone seeing him until he’s red in the face and out of breath.

Oliver waits until Elio has can take a full breath, then speaks.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Elio says back.

“I will be back so soon.”

Elio nods.

“You’ll be so busy with school that you won’t even notice time going by. And then I’ll be with you again.”

Elio nods again. His eyes want to fill with tears anew. Thinking of how long it’ll be until Oliver comes back - almost three months- already thinking of how he’ll feel when Oliver has to leave again. 

Sometimes he thinks this is torture.

“Okay,” he says, though. Feels stupid and empty.

“I have to go now, baby.” Oliver’s eyes are clear. He casts a quick look around, then takes one of Elio’s hands, brings it up to his lips to kiss his palm, quickly, but warm. 

Then, he lets him go. Picks up his suitcase, and boards the train.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! This story will now be across 3 chapters. X

She’s not new in his school. 

Elio had seen her from the beginning of the year, perhaps that’s when she transferred from somewhere else, he doesn’t know for sure. But only now they’ve started talking. 

She’s so, so pretty. Blonde long hair that curl in ringlets sometimes, sometimes falling straight on her shoulders like a beautiful doll. She’s got large brown eyes. She seems so elegant, almost older than their eighteen years. 

And she’s very interesting. She starts talking to Elio first, smile on her face, and she’s not shy, not like Elio, who is a little quiet around new people. She likes books. She asks him about the ones he’s read, the ones he loves. She has a nice smile.

Her name is Martina. 

They start hanging out more often. 

Martina even comes home to study with Elio. Elio goes to study at her house. She’s an only child, just like Elio, and her dad is away for work very often. 

Elio swallows, gets the thought away from his head as soon as he can.

She’s beautiful, and Elio likes her very much. They kiss one day, as he says goodbye to her on her door, downstairs so that her parents don’t see. 

Elio’s heart is beating very fast, it’s the first time he kisses anyone else since Oliver, of course. He’s only kissed two people in his life - Marzia and Oliver - and of course he’s going to keep track. 

He never intended to kiss anyone else, but there he is.

Martina’s lips are soft and pliant while they kiss. Nothing like Oliver’s, and she doesn’t guide the kiss, either, like Oliver would do. 

It’s nice, but it also feels bitter in Elio’s chest. He swallows down the feeling when he leaves her house, walking to the underground to get home that night.

He makes himself go to sleep, close his eyes tight and tells himself not to think. Please, don’t think. Just don’t.

He keeps seeing Martina in the next few weeks. He always thought he could not, just couldn’t, kiss anybody else. He couldn’t. His lips wouldn’t work, it wouldn’t feel right, it wouldn’t taste right. He couldn’t do it. 

And yet, here he is. He’s done it. He’s kissed someone else. He enjoys spending time with someone else. 

Oliver rarely calls - international calls are so expensive - but sometimes, he does. Like that night.

Samuel is happy to hear from him of course, and calls Elio to the phone. ‘Elly? Oliver here, wants to say hi.’

Elio’s hand tremble when he picks up the receiver.

“Elio.”

“Hey,” he greets.

“Are you alright? How’s everything?”

“It’s - good. I’m okay.”

There is a pause. As if Oliver noticed the pause. “How are you?” Elio asks, to move on.

“I’m fine. Very busy.” A pause, from him too. “I miss you.”

Elio swallows. “I miss you too.” 

Fuck. It’s true.

“I wish I could be there right now. Have you in my arms.”

Elio sets his jaw, looks down. His face burning.

“I wish that too.”

There’s another pause. Elio knows Oliver understands there’s things not being said. Oliver is clever.

“What is it, baby? You seem quiet.”

“It’s nothing.” Elio swallows. He was too quick.

“Hey. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Elio looks away, as if Oliver can see him. His face burns even more, his heart is quickening its beats. He doesn’t want to talk about this. For the first time, the very first time, he wishes he wasn’t on the phone to Oliver right now. He wishes he wasn’t speaking to the love of his life, right now, and not know what to say to explain what he’s feeling.

“It’s nothing,” he says, voice low. He imagines, if they were together, Oliver would make him raise his face; look right into his eyes, until Elio tried to look away, and Oliver still wouldn’t allow him. Oliver would hold him tightly, hold his wrist or his face, and Elio would think, with a shiver,how strong Oliver is, how he could make him do whatever he wanted. Oliver would not let go, would kiss his throat and his collarbone, and pinch his nipples, squeeze the muscles of his backside until Elio moaned softly, until he gave in and gave up, and gave himself over.

Elio is half hard now. Fuck. He’s the worst. 

“It’s just nothing,” he repeats, impatient. “Sorry, I have to go now. I have a lot to study tonight.”

He’s never, ever ended a phone call with Oliver like that before. 

He sees Martina again the next day. They lay together on her bed, watching a movie on her small bedroom tv. She holds his hand; they only kiss a couple of times. She doesn’t ask for anything more. 

Oliver calls again. This is a surprise. 

Annella calls Elio to the phone and gives him the receiver quietly.

“Are you all right?” Oliver asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, all good.”

“I was worried.”

Elio swallows. “Why?”

“You sounded strange. The other day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. But tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Elio...”

Elio’s heart is beating fast. He feels so tense. As if he’s done something wrong, as if he’s... cheated on someone. Cheated on Oliver. 

Yes, that’s how it feels.

But he hasn’t. Has he? He and Oliver aren’t together. Or rather, yes they are; but Oliver is with someone else, too. So Elio hasn’t done anything wrong. He shouldn’t be this scared.

“Nothing’s going on,” he repeats.

There’s a pause.

“I couldn’t sleep the other night. You seemed so strange over the phone, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

God. God. Elio sighs.

“I told you it’s nothing.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, what Oliver’s saying, where this is going. He’s never been in this situation before.

“Are you seeing someone?”

Oliver’s question falls like lead. The thump of its arrival echoes in the silence between them. Elio doesn’t have time to actually think of a response, stupidly doesn’t even consider it.

“No, no. I’m not.” He feels like shit.

There’s silence again.

“It’s all I’m thinking about.”

“Oliver...”

“I think - I think you should tell me. You should tell me the truth.”

Elio swallows. Oliver sounds so insecure. So fragile. He’s never heard him like that. 

“It’s the truth,” he tries again. Feels even worse. He’s an asshole.

“I don’t think it is. Please, Elio.” 

Oliver. Begging.

Elio’s heart skips a beat. His hands tense around the receiver. 

He wants to ask him, why does Oliver not trust him? Why is he still insisting? Why is he still asking questions?

But he knows why. Oliver isn’t stupid. Oliver can tell. And Elio isn’t being subtle, even though he’s trying to be.

“Why is this important,” Elio asks instead. It makes more sense.

“Because,” and here Oliver sighs. Perhaps he realises how absurd this whole thing is. “Because i love you.”

“Oliver...”

“I am in love with you. And I thought you loved me.”

“I love you.” The words burn in Elio’s mouth like acid.

“Then tell me. I can’t spend another night thinking - thinking that you want to leave me.”

Elio closes his eyes. Takes a breath. His heart is still beating fast. It makes him nauseous. 

He doesn’t want to leave Oliver. 

But perhaps that’s what has to happen. That’s what’s happening.

“I’m,” he starts. Swallows. His eyes are already burning. “I’m seeing someone. Her name is Martina. From school.”

The silence after this is thick. Empty. Devoid of any, tiny, far away noise. 

Elio expects Oliver to speak, but he doesn’t. There’s nothing on the other end of the line, just the soft sound of breathing. It’s like that phone call, a year ago; ‘I’m getting married in the spring.’

“I love you, Oliver. I’ve never loved anyone like you. You are inside me, you will always be.” Elio takes a breath. He’s ready. “But I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me. It kills me every time I take a breath. I can’t let you make love to me and then think of you doing the same to your wife. I just...,” take a breath, Elio, he reminds himself. Starts again. “I’m - I’m sorry. I love you. But I can’t. I’m sorry.”

And he ends the call. Heart, broken into a million pieces, each little debris in the palm of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave me a comment! Comments are what makes me want to write. Not lying here.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hai avuto altre ragazze prima di me?” Did you have other girlfriends before me? Martina asks, playing with his hand, while they lay in bed in front of the tv.

Elio looks at their fingers, intertwined. How to answer? 

He shakes his head no.

“Nemmeno a Crema?” Not even in Crema?

Elio looks at her. Martina knows that Elio spends every summer with his parents at their villa near Crema. 

“No,” he says quietly.

Her brown eyes stay fixed in his for a minute longer, as if she’s trying to figure out if there’s more. When Elio stays quiet, she looks away, towards the tv. Harold and Maude is on, and they watch it quietly, Martina still holding his hand. 

“Elio,” Samuel’s voice is low. He knocks on Elio’s door, even though it’s open. 

Elio is reading a book, laying back on his bed; and looks up at his father. “Hmm?”

“Oliver is on the phone.”

It’s as if his blood has frozen in his veins all of a sudden. There’s a cold shiver that runs through his body; but Elio tries to keep his expression neutral, as much as he can.

“Do you want to speak to him?”

Samuel is only asking if Elio wants to talk to Oliver. He isn’t saying if Oliver asked for him. Elio doesn’t know if he did. 

His heart is beating so fast, and he hates that. He hates Oliver for calling; now he wants to speak to him.

He wants to speak to him so much.

“No. No, thanks, dad,” he forces himself to say.

Samuel nods. Gives him another look, and then leaves. 

Elio has to re-read the same line three times. Four times. He still isn’t following. 

He sighs, frustrated, closes the book. Turns around and buried his face into his pillow. 

Fuck. 

“Hey, piccino.” Annella greets him the next morning, when Elio goes to the kitchen for breakfast. She pads close, places a cup of coffee in front of his still sleepy face, as he sits down at the table. She reaches out, and strokes his curls off of his forehead.

“Oliver is coming to Milan,” she says, softly. “This weekend. So we’ve invited him to our dinner party on Saturday.” 

She must sense his sudden tension, because she speaks again. “You don’t have to be here, if you don’t want to.”

He doesn’t have to be there. 

But Oliver is coming to Milan. Does Elio really not want to see him? At all?

“Why is he coming?” he asks instead, gulping down on his coffee, even though it’s hot. He tries to sound nonchalant and uncaring, but he’s never been a good actor. He looks at the biscuits on the table, but can’t make himself eat.

“He said he’s having some issues,” Annella says, her voice still soft. “And he wanted a change of air. Poor darling.” She sighs, and walks back to the sink, though Elio can’t see what she’s doing because he’s looking down at his cup. 

He knows that Annella is not as clueless to all this as she is trying to appear, but he is grateful that she doesn’t push the conversation. 

He goes back to his room, battling with his head to keep his thoughts at bay. 

And his thoughts, as usual, betray him.

“I love this. I love how you are. With me. So submissive. So willing. So - free.” Oliver used to tell him. “You’re exactly what I want.”

Elio used to puff up with pride at the praise. He’s exactly what Oliver wants. He’s exactly what the man he loves desires. 

There is no higher, more exciting compliment, and Elio preened and swore to himself that he would give Oliver everything. Everything, if it meant Oliver would stay. Not leave him, even once they had a whole ocean separating them. 

“I love you.” Elio had been the first to say it. So cliche, right? The younger, much younger lover, melting with adoration and desire at the feet of his partner, who’s older, handsome, perfect. 

But Oliver had said it back straight away. They’d had sex, again, third time that night, because Elio could not stand the idea of confessing his feelings and not making love straight after. As if he needed an outlet, something physical where to channel all that he felt, as if he needed Oliver coming inside him to know that Oliver belonged to him, too, now and maybe, hopefully, forever.

How can that happen and not mean anything? How can Oliver say that he loved him, and then, not even three months later, call and say that he was getting married to someone else?

Elio buries his face into his pillow, breathes. Hopes to forget, knows that he can’t. 

“Davvero non vuoi venire?” Martina asks as they’re saying goodbye, outside his house, on Saturday. 

Elio has walked her to the door, and smiled, shakes his head. 

He isn’t going out with his friends. He knows that he should avoid Oliver. And while his whole body aches, while he knows it will hurt even more later, he can’t make himself go out.

Martina sighs, and then reaches out on tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth.

Until some voices make them separate. 

Someone has just gotten out of a taxi in front of the house. 

Oliver.

And when Elio looks over, it’s too late to pretend he hasn’t seen him. 

“Hi,” he says. Oliver just smiles. His eyes look strange. 

“Ok. Ciao,” Martina says, with a look to Oliver, as she leaves. 

Elio has taken Oliver inside, with only a few words - how are you, how was the trip, my parents are waiting for you. 

Oliver seems quiet, quieter than usual, but then, at dinner, he is his usual, charming self. Elio tries to look away; but so many times, he finds that he can’t. 

Oliver is so handsome. His skin is so perfect, his blonde hair seem to shine even in the low, warm light of the dinner table. The woman sitting next to him is smiling at him a lot, laughs at every joke he makes. 

Elio takes a sip of his wine. 

And one more.

He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care.

He looks over, and Oliver is looking at him. 

God, his eyes. The blue in them. 

Elio misses those eyes, so much, misses how dark they get when they look at him in bed. When Oliver wants him. 

He looks away, his face aflame, and drinks some more. 

God, is he really thinking about sex with Oliver, while at his family dinner table, with his parents’ friends all chitchatting around him?

The woman next to Oliver laughs again. Elio looks up; tries to read her lips. 

He’s sure she’s asked if he’s single. What he’s doing after. How long he’s staying in Milan. 

Elio’s head spins. He closes his eyes, but he knows he needs some quiet. They’re nearly at the end of the dinner. His mother will understand. 

He stands, excuses himself with a quick, forced smile, craving the silence and the comfort of his room. He walks there as fast as he can. 

He’s closed the door behind himself, and sits on his bed. Takes a deep breath. 

This is better.

If that woman has to keep flirting with Oliver, at least Elio won’t see. He shouldn’t be seeing that. Staying here was a bad idea, he’d known all along. 

He frowns, wonders where Martina and the others might be. He could take his bike and go to them, he bets they’re at their usual bar, the one they go to every weekend. He could.

As soon as he stands, convincing himself - yes, he needs to leave - there’s a knock on his door. 

Probably his mother. “I’m fine!” Elio calls out.

But a different voice replies.

“Elio?”

Oliver. 

Oliver. 

Elio freezes. His heart jumps. 

He opens the door, looks at Oliver, who is watching him, slight concern in his face. 

And before his head can spin again, Elio throws himself at Oliver, and kisses him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errrr.... this story is now stretching out. So, I think it’ll be 4 chapters. I’m pretty sure this time ;)
> 
> Hope you are still enjoying it! Please do comment, your thoughts help my inspiration a lot. X


	4. Chapter 4

Elio kisses him, and kisses him, and he’s probably being clumsy and uncoordinated now, but he just cannot care enough to feel self-conscious. 

Desire is ruling his own body, desire and love, desire and, yes, desperation.

He has missed Oliver more than anything.

“Elio...”, Oliver’s deep, husky, loved voice murmurs on the side of Elio’s neck. He kisses him there, then near his jaw, then he cups his face into his large palms, forcing Elio to look at him.

“Hey. Should we-“

Elio knows what he’s about to say. Should we do this, your mother will wonder where we are, people have seen us leave one after the other and will talk. 

Well, Elio can’t care. Not right now.

“It’s fine,” he says, kisses Oliver’s mouth again. Basically climbs on him, with his arms and legs all wrapped around Oliver, and then starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, pulling him back towards his bed. 

Oliver seems to hesitate at first, for a few moments, but then gives in. He undresses Elio too. And then goes willingly, when Elio pulls him down onto the bed, over him, bucks up into Oliver.

“Fuck me,” Elio growls in Oliver’s mouth. 

He can’t think of anything else. Not the dinner party they are supposed to be at. Not Martina. Not what happened before. Not that he’s broken up with Oliver. Not even if they bothered to lock the door to his room. 

Nothing, aside from the feeling of Oliver on him. In him, right now.

His thrusts are already fast and intense, less coordinated than they usually are, but Elio pins that down to surprise. Because he took Oliver by surprise, sure. 

He used to both love and dread how deep they connected during sex, but now he loves it, because every thrust right into his core, right inside his body, doesn’t change how he feels about Oliver. Doesn’t make it worse. Oliver is already in his soul. That much, Elio now knows. 

“I missed you. So much,” Oliver murmurs against his neck. 

“Missed you too,” Elio says back. And God, he knows it’s the truth. 

Oliver turns him around, wraps his arms around his body, and fucks him from behind in the end.

Elio can only see the wall, his back to the door, but he still doesn’t care if anybody were to come in. 

In fact, he hopes someone does. He hopes the woman who was trying to flirt with Oliver, earlier at dinner, comes in now, sees them. Sees Oliver, completely and utterly wrapped in him, spent in him. Saying Elio’s name, telling him he loves him. Just like he’s doing now. 

“I should - I should go back. They’ll think I’m being rude,” Oliver says. His breath feels cool against Elio’s sweaty nape. “Your mother will think I’m rude.”

Elio doesn’t open his eyes. 

“She’ll know what happened.” It was going to happen, he thinks. 

There hasn’t yet been a time when he and Oliver have been in the same place, at the same time, and haven’t ended up all over each other eventually. There hasn’t yet been a time when Oliver has come to Italy and they haven’t ended up having sex. 

His mother won’t be surprised.

In a way, Elio has failed. Again. 

Now that the afterglow is chasing away the alcohol in his veins, Elio realises - he’s fallen for it again. He’s fallen into his own trap. 

Giving in to Oliver has always been his vice.

He closes his eyes, pushes back against Oliver’s body. Oliver is soft against him, and Elio wants to stop thinking. Wants him hard again, so he can fuck him again, so he can chase the thoughts away. 

He knows what to do.

He turns his head around, looks up into Oliver’s face. 

“I want to suck you off,” he says. Lewd and vulgar and dirty. He takes Oliver’s hand, brings it to his mouth, sucks three of his fingers between his lips, laves them with his tongue, closes his eyes. 

Hears Oliver growl softly.

“Fuck, Elio.”

“That’s what I want you to do.”

“We just finished...”

Elio was expecting that response, and he doesn’t break eye contact as he brings Oliver’s hand down, behind himself, pushes the fingers inside himself til the last knuckle. 

He has to close his eyes then, to savour the burn, the feeling of fullness, the way Oliver pushes his fingers even deeper. They never had any taboo, in bed. No restrictions.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Oliver growls. And even though Elio’s eyes are closed, he knows that Oliver is watching him, watching his face and his mouth, his throat as he swallows, his chest as he arches back at every thrust of the fingers inside him. 

He wants him to watch. He wants him to remember. He wants him to want him, to hate himself for having lost him. 

That, and the orgasm that’s coming from deep inside his belly, is the only way Elio can win. 

“So. You with this girl, now?”

Oliver is sitting on his bed. Eyes still veiled with sleep; hair mussed.

Elio faces away from him, tries to adjust his own, messier than messy curls on the mirror.

He clears his throat. 

“Yes.”

There is a moment a silence, and Elio keeps looking in the mirror, fiddling with a curl on his forehead, which will never stay in place, but Elio needs something to do. 

“I’m leaving my wife.”

Elio swallows. No. No, don’t look at Oliver. He’s said that before. 

“You’ve said that before.”

There’s some rustling. Out of the corner of his eye, Elio sees that Oliver is picking up his trousers, taking something from his pocket.

“Here.”

Elio turns, just enough to take what’s being offered to him. A piece of paper. A divorce agreement. 

“It’s been going on for a while. I came here to tell you.” Oliver’s eyes are blue, serious. Not hopeful, though. 

“You really... did you really have this in your pocket this whole time.”

It’s a silly thing to say, but the only thing that comes to Elio’s mind right now. And certainly not less silly than Oliver coming to dinner with his divorce papers in his pocket. 

“I understand if - if it’s too late, now.”

Elio turns around, fully towards Oliver. His hand, the one holding the papers, trembles. And how ridiculous a situation - them both, in their underwear, each other’s come still on their skin, each other’s taste in their mouths, at an impasse. 

Yes. It’s a mess. Yes, people are suffering. Will be suffering. But if Elio has to be honest, right now... he’s never. Ever. Been happier. 

His hand still trembles. Suddenly, he feels so cold. As if he’s in shock. The truth is - he knows what’s happening. His body wants to go back to normality. His body wants what it was made to have. Oliver, wrapped around him, protecting him; soothing him, calming him. 

Elio takes a couple of steps, it’s all that’s needed. And then he straddles Oliver, wraps himself around him, naked chest against naked chest, his face pushed into the crook of Oliver’s neck. 

Oliver’s arms wrap around him, big and strong and warm, and Elio feels his lips push against his curls that smell of them. 

“I told her that I had a boyfriend, back in Crema, last summer.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that she thought so. That I’m a bad liar.”

Oliver chuckles. Elio loves his laugh. 

“She’s right.”

“Hey,” Elio punches him playfully on the arm, and knows exactly what’s coming when Oliver grabs his wrist, pulls him against himself, buries his face into the side of his neck and kisses and bites, making Elio laugh because he’s ticklish. 

“My mom said the same. I’m a bad liar and she knew where you and I went last night.”

“I’m so glad they’re not strict parents,” Oliver pulls back, cups Elio’s face with both his hands. “I probably wouldn’t be in one piece now, if they were.”

Elio holds his eyes. “No. No you wouldn’t.”

There’s more than the mere playful joke in what he’s said, and he knows Oliver understands. 

“I will never leave you.” Oliver says. “I love you. More than ever.”

Elio smiles. He steps up on tiptoes, joins their mouths in a kiss. 

They’re together. It’s back to how it should be. 

His heart is full. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this story! Please let me know what you think! And thanks for reading :)


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